Out Came the Sun
by Syl
Summary: Nightwing and the Huntress investigate a mysterious figure from Batman's past. Meanwhile, Barbara continues her relentless search for concrete evidence to help clear Bruce Wayne.


Summary: Nightwing and the Huntress investigate a mysterious figure from Batman's past. Meanwhile, Barbara continues her relentless search for concrete evidence to help clear Bruce Wayne.   
  
Author's Note: Takes place during the Bruce Wayne Fugitive story arc, and immediately following the events in my story, Down Came the Rain.   
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.  
  
Copyright March 2002  
  
****  
  
Out Came the Sun  
By Syl Francis  
  
****  
  
She watched him from the shadows, grudgingly admiring his fluid movements. She privately admitted that she always felt a secret thrill by his grace and finesse. She knew of no one else whom quite matched Nightwing's subtle fighting style, which was closer to that of a danseur than of a martial artist.  
  
By comparison, Batman was a steamroller, ruthlessly crushing his opponents and anything else that lay in his path. As for herself? The Huntress prided herself in her own unique way of dealing with Gotham's underworld. Her hand automatically moved to the special holster at her side and unconsciously caressed the deadly crossbow that was her signature weapon.  
  
At a good-natured laugh from below her, she adjusted her mask opticals and zoomed in. She stiffened suddenly. One of the teenaged punks was suddenly holding a gun on Nightwing.  
  
"Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's impolite to point?" Nightwing asked. The Huntress rolled her eyes.  
  
"Here we go," she muttered exasperatedly. In the few years she'd known Nightwing, she could never understand his penchant for bad quips and puns in the middle of a firefight. Especially since he'd been trained by Batman, a man not known for his conversation. And because the Huntress felt that talking to the mooks in this town was a waste of energy. As far as she was concerned, they were good for only one thing--being taken out!  
  
If she happened to inflict a little pain into them in the process, so much the better.  
  
And yet, this young man whose fighting style she so admired was more inclined to take out his opponents with a punch and a pun--and only use the minimum force necessary to take them down. And where was the fun in that, she wondered ruefully? Hearing them bleat and squeal--now that was her idea of fun.   
  
She scowled, observing as the punk fired pointblank at the young daredevil hero. Almost faster than the eye could follow, Nightwing somersaulted backwards and kicked off the wall of the building nearest him. This instantly reversed his momentum, sending him flying back towards the punk. Meanwhile, the young hood nervously fired, vainly trying to hit Nightwing.   
  
The Huntress again shook her head. She watched as Nightwing leaped, spun, and kicked out with his powerful legs, connecting with the punk's temple. The teen gunman went down without another sound.  
  
Nightwing stood over him, grinning broadly. "See what being naughty gets you? A timeout for bad behavior." Shaking his head in amusement, Nightwing bound the group of unconscious teen gang members with plastic tie-wraps and called the GCPD. With that, the Dark Squire fired off a jump line and rose into the night.  
  
The Huntress waited until she saw which rooftop he'd headed towards, and immediately fired off a jump line and followed him.  
  
****  
  
Barbara Gordon sat in the lonely gloom of her clock tower and studied the contents of Vesper Fairchild's laptop. Something wasn't right. No matter how hard Barbara tried, she just couldn't seem to trace Vesper's electronic footprint.  
  
"This isn't right," she muttered, sitting back. Shaking her head, Barbara removed her glasses and tiredly rubbed her eyes. Setting the laptop down, she glanced over at the giant clock face that dominated her quarters.   
  
2:30 a.m.  
  
She thought of Dick, recalling their earlier conversation. They'd argued about Bruce, of course. She sighed, stretching. For a man who according to Batman was supposedly 'irrelevant,' Bruce Wayne was certainly casting a long shadow and eclipsing both her life and Dick's.   
  
In fact, Bruce Wayne had sure become a real pain in the neck lately. As if to emphasize her point, Barbara massaged her neck, her mood darkening.  
  
Presently, it seemed as if she were spending every waking moment trying to find some way to clear his name. And what was *Batman* doing to help? Nothing! He claimed that he didn't have time to be 'bothered' by the problems of Bruce Wayne.   
  
As for Dick...If Batman didn't have time for Bruce Wayne, then Dick was making up for it by putting as much time as she into trying to clear his mentor's name. But he was going about it all wrong. Dick was too emotionally involved to remain coolly professional.   
  
Which brought her back to their earlier argument. What had he said, she wondered: "...Don't force me to choose between the two of you--"  
  
Had he really said that, or had she imagined it? Suddenly, she wanted to talk to Dick, to try to explain again, to make him see that her actions were that of a concerned friend, not of a traitor who'd turned her back on his father.  
  
About to reach for her communicator, she stopped. And what if it were *her* father who stood accused of murder, she asked herself? Would she tolerate Dick or anyone else saying anything negative against him? Would she sit still for any speculation that implied Jim Gordon might be guilty of murder?  
  
Slowly, she shook her head, 'no.' Sighing, she brought her hand up to her eyes and covered them in momentary pain.   
  
"Then how can I expect Dick to be objective?" she muttered. Feeling guilty over daring to remain clinically dispassionate in her own investigation, Barbara moved her hand away from her communicator. Instead, she turned back to her computer and continued her search for Vesper's electronic trail.  
  
****  
  
"Is this a private roof, or can anyone join you?" Huntress kept at least a ten-foot distance from Nightwing to prevent any possible accidents, like Nightwing kicking out in surprise and knocking her all the way into the next county.  
  
"Pull up a ledge and have a seat," he said without turning. He sat cross-legged on the roof's ledge, oblivious to the prohibitive distance to the dark streets below, concentrating intently through his long-distance night goggles.   
  
"Thanks," she said, feeling inexplicably happy. Usually, the Bat-clan met her overtures of help with suspicious looks and a 'Thanks, but no thanks.' It was a rare occasion indeed when one of them extended the hand of friendship. Taking him up on his invitation, she sat on the roof's ledge next to him.  
  
"So, what are we doing?" she asked playfully, deliberately leaning in closer until she was almost touching him. Not bothering to answer her, Nightwing continued his surveillance. Pouting at being ignored, the Huntress retreated until there was at least a foot of separation between them.   
  
Glaring at his chiseled profile, she wondered how he could go all night trading nonsense quips with the City's night vermin but totally ignore her friendly banter. Sighing, she studied the angle in which his goggles were trained and noted that he was intent on a particular balcony across the street.   
  
"Whose place?" she asked.  
  
Putting his equipment away, Nightwing stood without speaking and fired a jump line.   
  
"'Yes, thank you for your help, Helena. Please, follow me,'" the Huntress mimicked. "Why, Nightwing, you say the sweetest things. Don't mind if I do." With that, she too fired a jump line and streaked across the black night. An icy rain had begun to fall, and the Huntress felt a certain titillating pleasure as her long, dark hair was whipped back by the biting wind.  
  
Landing on the opposite roof, she was no more than a mere whisper, a shadow embraced by the familial darkness. She pressed a hidden switch in her mask, activating her night optics and searched the immediate area around her.   
  
Empty.  
  
Where'd he go, she wondered? Again, she felt a twinge of annoyance, coupled with a grudging admiration. How did he do it, she asked herself? Nightwing's ability to disappear at will was almost meta-human. One minute he could be standing next to her, the next instant--poof!  
  
Well...he did have a head start, she grumbled. Okay, Helena, she told herself, snap out of it! If Nightwing wasn't up here, then logically, he should be at the balcony that he was checking out earlier. Nodding, the Huntress was about to move out, when a soft voice spoke next to her ear.   
  
"You took long enough."   
  
Unable to help herself, she jumped, startled. Without hesitation, the Huntress whirled, kicked out, and punched at the mysterious shadow that was suddenly beside her. Somehow, the shadow easily evaded her--gracefully, elegantly--and coming to her senses, the Huntress stopped her attack almost as quickly as she'd begun it.  
  
"Sorry," she muttered. But Nightwing was already diving over the roof's edge. Rolling her eyes skyward, the Huntress shook her head and followed at his heels.   
  
****  
  
"So, that's it," Barbara murmured. "A false trail..." Typing rapidly, her beautiful face scrunched in concentration, Barbara finally found what she was looking for. Someone had obviously replaced Vesper's original files with the current ones--someone who obviously wanted investigators to believe that the newspaper reporter had uncovered Bruce Wayne's double life and was about to expose it.  
  
Hitting enter several times, Barbara ran her search program, cross-checking certain key words, sorting by date/time/group.  
  
Watching her as the information she'd been searching for scrolled across her monitor, Barbara felt a definite sense of triumph.   
  
It looked like Dick was right. While all the evidence pointed toward Bruce's guilt, this showed her that maybe--just maybe--the airtight evidence might have been planted.  
  
"But who?" she murmured. Again, she glanced at the clock face. 5:30. "Almost dawn." She turned back to the evidence on her screen, and eyes narrowed sat back. "It looks like someone will have to rob the bank."  
  
Her thoughts went back to Dick. If anyone would be able to get in and out without being spotted, it would be the great escape artist, himself--Nightwing! But no, Barbara thought, shaking her head. What she had in mind had to be done in daylight, during regular bankers' hours, in full view of everyone.  
  
"And the last twist this case needs is for the adopted son of Bruce Wayne to be observed leaving the scene of a bank robbery!" She grinned ruefully. "Looks like a job for Black Canary...and is she gonna hate the idea!" Barbara's face softened at the thought of her friend who hadn't once questioned the Bat-clan's near obsession with clearing Bruce Wayne's name.  
  
She wondered if Dinah knew or suspected the truth. Sighing, Barbara shrugged her shoulders. "Probably...but she's too much of a friend to say anything." It seemed that whatever else happened, by the time this nightmare ended, Batman's real identity would fall under the category of 'World's Worst Kept Secret.'  
  
Seeing the first hints of the breaking dawn, Barbara put in the call to Black Canary.  
  
****  
  
What were they looking for, she wondered again? The Huntress had no clue, and Mr. 'Junior Closed-Mouth When He Wants to Be' Nightwing wasn't saying. Shrugging in exasperation, Huntress childishly made a face and flopped down on the sofa.   
  
"You know, if you don't want my help," she muttered, addressing the room in general, "all you have to do is say so."  
  
"Oh, I'm sure the Dark Knight's Squire more than desires your assistance, my dear. In fact, I'm certain that his desires run even deeper than he would ever willingly admit to--either to you...*or* to himself."  
  
At the first sounds of the unfamiliar voice, the Huntress leaped to her feet and whipped out her crossbow, assuming a defensive crouch. The Dark Mistress expertly shifted her stance every few seconds, effectively covering the 360 degrees around her.  
  
"Nightwing!" she hissed. Where had he gone? She hadn't noticed--again--when he pulled his usual disappearing act.  
  
"Don't worry, my dear," the voice said. "Our heroic young man is in good hands...*Behold*!"  
  
Abruptly, a flat screen television monitor flickered to life. Unable to help herself, the Huntress watched as the camera panned to a lone, dark figure that lay helplessly strapped to what appeared to be an examination table. She saw that he was held down by metal bands along his wrists, ankles, chest and thighs. Plus, there were several electrodes attached to his temples and scalp.  
  
"Nightwing!" she gasped. Ignoring any danger to herself, the beautiful vigilante sprang into action. She moved quickly through each room, thoroughly searching the bedrooms, closets, bathrooms, and even the kitchen cabinets. All too quickly, she ended back in the living room.   
  
Gone! But how was that possible?  
  
An evil laugh suddenly echoed through the apartment. "They are blind although they can see!" the voice taunted. "Your young knight is a deeply troubled young man, my dear. His mind, however, is open to me--as was his mentor's but a few months ago! Watch...if you dare!"  
  
The next instant, the TV screen dissolved and was replaced by a scene out of H.P. Lovecraft...  
  
A very small and insignificant Nightwing stood at the edge of dizzying precipice while being attacked by a giant-sized bat. Try as he might to dodge and weave, the bat was too powerful, its fluttering wings stirring up a gale-force wind that knocked the young crimefighter off his feet and sent him hurtling into the dark depths of the abyss below...  
  
The next instant, a small boy dressed in a bright red, yellow, and green costume stood helplessly by as two circus performers plunged to their deaths. The boy's screams were a piercing echo to theirs long after their voices were forever silenced...  
  
Next, she saw Nightwing being pulled in two directions--Batman on one side and Oracle on the other. "...Don't force me to choose between the two of you--!" he cried. Her heart broke at the pain and suffering in his voice as the two people he loved the most in his life tore him in half...  
  
Finally, to her infinite shame, she saw herself in his arms as he tightly clasped her to him, his hands eagerly exploring every inch of her nude body, his mouth passionately covering hers. Involuntarily, her lips recalled his kisses and her body responded to the memory of his hot touch...  
  
"No...!" she whispered hoarsely, her cheeks burning in mortification. As much as she wanted Nightwing to be attracted to her...as much as she secretly desired him, this was wrong! His mind was being invaded--forcefully ravaged--and it was up to her to help him.  
  
"As you can see, my dear...Your young squire's mind holds many interesting secrets. Secrets that are open to me and my will. In fact, I have the power to bend his will to mine. To make him dream and desire anything that I wish him to. *Behold*--!"  
  
But the Huntress refused to be drawn into the dark scene of sick depravity that was suddenly thrust before her: Again, she caught a glimpse of herself and Nightwing, both naked, both performing acts that only the most demented, most vile psyche could conjure.  
  
But that wasn't Nightwing's fantasy being played on screen, she knew. Instead, they were the twisted delusions of whoever was holding her friend captive.   
  
And when I get my hands on you--!  
  
The evil laughter again rang through the apartment, interrupting her incensed musings. "It seems our Dark Squire should be arrested for even entertaining such filthy ideas!"  
  
Keep talking, Huntress thought darkly as she crept stealthily through the apartment once again. She'd activated her mask optics to trace the voice's point of origin as well as the video feed to the television screen. Taking out a palm-sized PC, she ran a quick analysis.  
  
Her eyes narrowed in triumph. Bingo! I got you now!  
  
Without hesitation, the Huntress took out a handful of pellets from her utility belt and tossed them at the television screen. At the same time, she ducked into a defensive crouch, bringing her cape up and around her, its triple-weave Nomex protecting her from the sudden blasts that rocked the apartment.  
  
****  
  
Before the smoke cleared, the Huntress leaped through the new opening between the adjoining apartments. Instinctively, she fired her crossbow towards her left and was rewarded by a squeal of pain as the quarrel found its mark. Grinning ferally, she vaulted over a bank of electronic equipment, dodging a sudden hail of bullets near her head.  
  
Spinning horizontally in midair, the Huntress fired behind and over her head several times in rapid succession. This time, she was twice gratified with the agonized cries and screams of those who'd fallen victim to her wrath. Landing, she allowed her momentum to carry her forward, and she rolled several times until she reached the examination table on which Nightwing still lay.  
  
Regaining her feet in a single, smooth motion, the Huntress hurriedly yanked the electrodes from his temples and scalp, and then in outraged fury, grabbed another handful of pellets and threw them with unnecessary force at the strange equipment that outlined most of the room.  
  
Without hesitation, she pushed the examination table with all the power she could muster, while simultaneously jumping up on top of Nightwing, using her cape to protect them both from the force of the explosions that followed.  
  
****  
  
Her hearing returned first as the sound of soft breathing next to her slowly invaded her consciousness.  
  
Next came her sense of touch. She stiffened suddenly as she became aware of his well-sculpted body lying underneath hers.   
  
Finally, her sight and sense of smell arrived at the same time. As she slowly opened her eyes, she saw that he was still unconscious and marveled again at the exquisite beauty of his features. She felt a momentary relief that he was unaware of her open assessment of his looks.  
  
Sniffing, she became aware of a pervasive black smoke that hung in the room. Sitting up, she realized that the place was on fire! And not a little fire, but a raging, out-of-control conflagration. Quickly, she undid the metal straps that still held Nightwing prisoner, and somehow managed to throw her much heavier friend over her shoulders in a fireman's carry...  
  
Much later, she helped him to a sitting position on the opposite rooftop. The street below was alive with sirens, emergency vehicles, and rescue workers. There was little point in interfering with their jobs, since they obviously had the situation under control.   
  
Therefore, as the horizon changed from twilight gray to pink plum blossoms, she concentrated on Nightwing, checking him for any possible injuries. When she was satisfied that he wasn't hurt, she lightly tapped him across the cheeks, but he didn't respond immediately. Hesitating slightly, she bent down and kissed him lightly on the lips. After a few seconds, he woke with a start.  
  
"Welcome back, handsome," she teased gently. His expression rapidly went from shock, to fear, to anger, to deep shame. Unable to bear looking at her, he stood suddenly, stumbling slightly as a wave of vertigo overtook him.  
  
"Hey! What's the matter?" she asked, confused by his reactions and feeling not a little hurt by them.  
  
Not answering, he stood stiffly, his back to her.  
  
"Look! I just saved your life!" she yelled. "I don't expect to be inducted into your club all of a sudden, but a simple 'thanks' would be nice." His silence continued to grow, seemingly clouding the morning with its gloom and sense of despair. "All right! Okay!" she said, fed up with him. "I'm sorry I ever tried to make amends. And don't worry...you'll never have to lay eyes on me again--!"  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
She stopped. What did he say? It sounded like--  
  
"I'm sorry," he repeated. Nightwing's shoulders had slumped slightly. Eyes widening at the unexpected turn of events, the Huntress walked up to him. Almost afraid of touching him, she hesitantly placed a hand on his arm. As expected, he stiffened at her touch, but he didn't throw her hand off.  
  
To her alarm, Nightwing suddenly covered his eyes with his other hand and let out a single, anguished sob. Instantly, the Huntress had him in her arms, holding him tightly against her, offering soothing words of comfort, caressing his face with her own.  
  
Before either was aware of what they were doing, their lips were less than a whisper apart. The next instant, they were clinging to each other overwhelmed by a feverish hunger that neither appeared able to control. Seemingly of their own accord, their lips parted slightly as they pressed together...  
  
"No!" Nightwing cried out, breaking free. "No! What are we doing?! This isn't right!" He whirled on her, his eyes almost accusatory. "That wasn't me in there!" he raged. "That was *him*! *He* did it! He made me want those--those...things!" Nightwing shuddered at the images that had been conjured unwillingly in his mind, images that now haunted him, drawing him against his will to the Huntress.  
  
Realizing what she'd been willingly about to do at her friend's expense, the Huntress felt an overwhelming sense of guilt coupled by a deep longing. She couldn't help how she felt about Nightwing even if she knew that whatever emotions he was currently experiencing for her were false. And it hurt her to watch him hurt over what had been done to him.  
  
In an attempt to change the subject, she asked the first question that came to her.  
  
"Who did this to you, Nightwing? To us?"  
  
"He calls himself Hugo Strange. He's some kind of mind-expert, a psychologist who likes to play mind games with his clients. A few months ago, he almost destroyed us--Batman and me. It was as if he knew what we were thinking before we even thought it."  
  
Nightwing walked towards the roof that faced the breaking dawn. He relished in the warmth of the early morning rays, which were dispelling the final remnants of last night's freezing rain.  
  
"That's how he caught me so easily. One minute I was exploring a suspicious spot along the wall. The next, I was falling through it. Before I could react, someone sprayed me with a knockout gas. Next thing I know, I'm living in a topsy-turvy nightmare world. My whole life is being played back at me in a kind of fun-house mirror version." He stopped, looking down at his feet, his cheeks flushed in sudden embarrassment.  
  
"And then, there you were..." he swallowed. "I wanted the images to stop, but couldn't make them go away. I had no control over them. And then..." he stopped and slowly looked up her. "And then, I didn't want them to stop..." He turned away, unable or unwilling to look her in the eye. "I'm sorry, Helena...I--"  
  
She was instantly next to him, not touching, but not out of his reach, either.  
  
"Hey...we're friends, remember? We shared a moment together way back when. We both knew that wasn't right for either of us, so we went our separate ways. I know you love her, Dick."  
  
By 'her,' Nightwing knew the Huntress meant Barbara, whom she knew only as Oracle.  
  
"And these feelings we're experiencing right now...They'll pass because we both know that they're not real. That it isn't me you want. That they were put there by that monster...whatisname...Hugo Strange, right?" At his nod, she continued. "Well, the last time I looked, you and were two perfectly normal, intelligent adults who know how to control their feelings--"  
  
She paused at his expression. He was looking her at with a look of complete of disbelief. If there were one thing about the Huntress that she knew Nightwing believed, it was that she was a woman who was rarely in complete control of herself. Grinning, she shook her head.  
  
"I'm quite capable of controlling myself around men, Nightwing. I promise you that I won't knock you over the head and drag you into my lair to make illicit, passionate love to you."  
  
Nightwing's usually quirky humor finally kicked in, and he gave her a rakish grin. "That's a relief. For a minute there, I was really scared."  
  
They both shared a quiet laugh. After a moment, he grew serious again.  
  
"Helena, I haven't really thanked you for what you did back there. I'm still not sure whether Strange isn't in some way responsible for what's going on with Bruce, and believe me, I won't rest until I find out one way or another. But you risked your life to save me, and for that, I owe you."  
  
He gazed sadly and longingly at her, his emotions warring inside him. Before she knew what he was doing, he took first one then a second step towards her. Tentatively raising his hand to her cheek, he caressed it softly. The next moment, their lips were searching tentatively for the each other's, and then barely touching, a charge of electricity coursed through them. Nightwing pulled her to him, feeling himself again overcome by passions beyond his ability to comprehend.  
  
Only this time, the Huntress pushed him away. "No," she cried out. "We mustn't! It isn't real!" She felt the tears that had been threatening earlier begin to spill. "I should go." She turned and stared at him. "I'm afraid that I won't be able to stop the next time."  
  
He nodded, but didn't speak. She saw a confusion of guilt and desire in his eyes and knew that he saw the same reflected in her own. Neither made a move to go. It was as if they couldn't fight whatever force was pulling them towards each other and their own self-destruction.  
  
It seemed they stood this way for an eternity. Certainly when she became aware of time again, the sun had risen quite high in the sky. She was about to speak, when Nightwing's expression suddenly took on a faraway look. He brought his hand up to his ear, as if listening.  
  
Oracle, she knew.  
  
"I copy," he said. "I'm on my way." Turning to her, Nightwing was suddenly all business. "That was Oracle. She thinks that she's uncovered new evidence that might prove Bruce was framed. She wants me to take a look at it."  
  
The Huntress nodded mutely. She watched him as he vaulted onto the high ledge in preparation for take off. About to leap, he turned suddenly and faced her one last time.  
  
"Thanks again, Helena...for being a friend." With that, Nightwing leaped into the bright, sunlit morning.  
  
****  
  
The beautiful, dark haired young woman climbed the steep steps leading up to the grand double doors of Gotham Cathedral. Covering her head with a plain, dark scarf, she entered the quiet, somber vestibule. She felt for the small font next to the door, and dipped her fingers lightly in the holy water, crossing herself automatically.  
  
She looked around for a few seconds in the deep gloom of the massive, gothic church. She finally spotted the confessionals tucked away in an out of the way private cul-de-sac, which lay adjacent to the sanctuary. Entering, and empty booth, she kneeled and again crossed herself. Saying a short, private prayer, Helena finally spoke.   
  
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been..." she paused. "...several years since my last confession."  
  
****  
  
The End  
  
*** 


End file.
